frecklefaced strawberry
by I Write Sins Not Tragidies
Summary: She thanks whatever higher power there is every single day to have Stiles in her life. /or, where stiles is a cutie husband and world's best dad


She thanks whatever higher power there is every single day to have Stiles in her life.

Especially when it comes to their daughter.

The thing is, Lydia's never really thought of herself as the motherly kind of girl. It's not that she doesn't like kids. She's babysat, like, three times. It's just that it sort of scared her. Being in charge of this little thing, being responsible for shaping it and making sure it's fit for society and keeping off an episode of Super Nanny for as long as possible.

Which is why she is absolutely terrified when she sits with her husband next to her as her doctor confirms that yes, the at-home test was correct, congratulations, _you're having a baby! _

Stiles stumbles next to her (even though he's sitting, this boy _still_ makes no sense to her) and then looks at her and his face is full of god damn joy and she tries her best to mock it. It's not that she's not happy; she is. She really is. But... there's this thing growing inside her and, from now on, every thought she has must be influenced by this baby inside her stomach (well, womb, but).

As soon as they get back from their appointment, she rushes towards the bathroom, drops to her knees in front of the toilet, and vomits up what little she could manage to eat that morning at breakfast. Stiles is soon behind her, holding her hair back, and bless him, he doesn't deserve someone who wants to have a panic attack just by the thought of being responsible for the next generation's youth.

"Wow," he laughs somewhat awkwardly. "I thought morning sickness was for, well, the morning." He pauses, supposedly to check his watch. "And it's 1:12."

She wipes her mouth and turns around, dropping into a slump, leaning against the toilet. "Stiles," she gulps, the taste of bile still present in the back of her throat. "I am absolutely terrified."

He opens his mouth and closes it again, falling to sit in front of her and setting his hand on her knee. "Lydia, you graduated from Stanford top of our class. You are one of the youngest world-class mathematicians alive today. You are well on your way to winning your Fields Medal within the next three years. You are an amazing friend, the best wife I could ask for, and you are going to be the World's Best Mother." He chuckles, leaning in to peck her on the lips, not at all phased by the fact that she probably tastes and smells like vomit. "I'll even get you one of those mugs."

She's still a little scared, but god damn it, she thinks she might actually be able to do it with Stiles with her.

Months later, after morning sickness and swelled feet and not being able to stand up without help, there's finally a baby in the nursery they spent all day to paint with chubby cheeks and strawberry blonde hair and freckles, which is weird, because she can't remember either of her parents nor Stiles' having many freckles. But she's probably the cutest baby she's ever seen and her husband with her is probably the most precious thing she's seen in all her years of living, because she's never seen him care for anyone as much as he does his daughter other than herself. Every time she finds the both of them asleep with her resting on his chest, she melts a little.

And she's not a terrible mother, if she says so herself.

There's this time where they're visiting Scott and Allison and their baby bump and, on their way home, Lydia wants to stop at the bookstore in order to buy the book Allison was raving about, fooled into thinking that she may have time to read it. The three of them- Lydia, Stiles, and their daughter- head in together, Lydia off in search while the other two wander.

After she's found the book she was looking for, she searches for the rest of her family and finds them both in the children's series, her daughter staring up at her father as he flips through a book with the hand that isn't holding the infant.

"Frecklefaced Strawberry," Lydia can hear him mumble, showing their daughter the cover of the book; a little girl with red hair and plenty of freckles. "Just like you." He bounces her and she giggles as he kisses the top of her head.

Lydia reluctantly approaches them, wrapping her arms around his lean shoulders and telling him in a soft voice it's time to go.

Its times like this that makes her feel really, really lucky to have Stiles in her life. He's the one that makes parenting ten times easier. She kind of hates herself for not letting him in earlier, for not accepting him as anything other than this loser who'd been pining after her for as long as she can remember.

"That doesn't matter," he would say. "We're together now, that's all that matters."

Damn, he's some kind of perfect.

And maybe, when she catches him calling their daughter Frecklefaced Strawberry when they're bathing her or feeding her or trying to get her to sleep, she pretends not to notice.


End file.
